


but the wolves came and went (and we're still standing)

by thedarkestgrey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drunken Confessions, Eventual Sansan, F/M, Falling In Love, Season 7 & 8 rewrite, Slow Burn, The Long Night, parts of this have been drafted since 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkestgrey/pseuds/thedarkestgrey
Summary: The morning sun is rising in the sky before the Starks make their way out of the godswood. Podrick is bone tired, but there is work to do. They can rest once their dead has been given proper treatment.“You stayed alive,” Arya says as she appears by his side out of nowhere.Podrick gives her a tired grin. “You gave me motivation.”
Relationships: Podrick Payne/Arya Stark
Comments: 32
Kudos: 49





	1. you say my name like i've never heard before

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So parts of this has been sitting in my drafts since 2017, and while quarantined my husband and I did a GoT rewatch, which inspired me to look through my drafts. I hopped right back into this one, with much more of an actual plan, and managed to get it 90% written before being called back into work. Shout out to my amazing beta reader [weddersins](https://twitter.com/weddersins/) who has never written or edited any GoT fic but was willing to jump into this with me regardless! YOU'RE THE REAL MVP SARAH!
> 
> The plan is to update weekly while finishing off the rest of what needs to be written, and when it's all said and done this will be roughly 14 chapters long (give or take) and around 23k words. The chapters are pretty short, and we're following all major show canon elements up until a certain point where the story makes major deviations. Tags will be updated accordingly as things happen! 
> 
> Enjoy! I'm excited to be back writing in what I consider my real element. 
> 
> Fic title: lyrics to The Bones by Maren Morris & Hozier.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When do you leave?” she questions as she circles him, plotting her first move.
> 
> He doesn’t even need to ask her to clarify, because he knows she’s talking about the meeting between the Northern forces, the Dragon Queen, and Queen Cersei in King’s Landing. King Jon -if that’s even what Podrick should be calling him these days as he’s not entirely sure where they stand on Northern Independence - and Queen Daenerys have agreed to fight together against the Night King and the army of the dead, and want to make an agreement with the Lannister forces to gain their needed help. 
> 
> Lady Sansa flat out refused to step foot in King’s Landing again, at least not while Cersei Lannister sat on the Iron Throne. He and Lady Brienne were being sent to speak on her behalf.
> 
> “In two days’ time,” he says, he quickly sidesteps to deflects her arching lunge.

He remembers the first time he saw her after her return, clear as day in his minds eye.

He hadn’t been at Winterfell all that long, what with he and Lady Brienne being sent to Riverrun to negotiate on behalf of their lady with Ser Jaime while the Wildings and Northern forces fought to win back Winterfell for the Starks. The Lady of Winterfell and her once-lost brother and a fierce young woman were exiting the Godswood, and there was no mistaking the younger girl for anyone other than Arya Stark. She looked just like she did during their encounter in the Riverlands in the years prior, if only a bit older and cleaner and carrying herself with more confidence.  
  
She was beautiful.

A thought that in itself came as a surprise to Podrick, because the last time he had laid eyes on her she was little more than a child with a funny little sword and eyes full of distrust the moment she realized that the sword Lady Brienne carried was ripe with Lannister gold.

It was the same look she would give him hours later upon their formal introduction, when Lady Sansa had properly introduced her sworn shield Lady Brienne of Tarth and her squire Podrick Payne in a meeting in the family solar after the evening meal.

“Payne?” the younger Stark sister questioned, her hand resting lightly on the pommel of that queer little sword of hers.

Lady Sansa, ever the diplomat, laid a hand on top of Lady Arya’s. “Yes, Payne. Podrick here has risked his life for mine many times over, sister - his loyalty lies with me and the North. He’s trusted in these halls, and no harm is to come to him.”

“I mean no offence, my lady. Other than, um, that time in the Vale, I don’t think we’ve uh, ever met…”

She gave him a once over before turning back to look at her sister. “Illyn Payne took Father’s head on the steps of the sept of Baelor when Joffrey called for it. They are relatives, aren’t they?”

“Arya,” Lady Sansa sighed before rubbing her temple lightly. “I expect you to respect my rule as the Lady of Winterfell and acting Warden of the North in Jon’s absence. If you have a continued issue with Podrick’s place in Winterfell upon our kingly brother’s return, I suggest you take it up with him. He has rather strong opinions on blaming children for the acts of their kin.”

With that the younger Stark girl had left the solar, giving nothing close to a proper goodbye. Lady Sansa had sunk deep into her chair next to the raging fire which raged at all hours. Lady Brienne was quick to dismiss him as she set about calling for one of the handmaids to come see their lady readied for bed, and it was with no uncertain amount of thanks that Podrick had exited the Stark family solar and headed towards his own room.

The only thing that had kept him from reaching his destination was the sword tip pressed lightly to his chest when he turned the final corner before his door.

“I’m not going to kill you. Sansa would know it was me,” Arya told him as she took a step further out of the darkened hallway and effectively backed him into a wall.

“I- I’m thankful for that. My lady,” he said hastily, his hands raised in surrender.

“Who is Illyn Payne to you?”

“Um. A cousin. I uh, I was born to um, a lesser branch. Still uh, a noble house, I suppose. Father’s dead. Mother ran off, erm, when I was a child. I found work as a Lannister squire, and eventually was given to Lord Tyrion, um, as a bit of a jape by his father. Ser Jaime sent me to travel with Lady Brienne, you know, after the kings wedding, to search for Lady Sansa and uh, keep her safe from the queen,” he told her honestly as she finally lowered and sheathed her sword.

“Did you know him? The King's Justice?”

Podrick shook his head. “We met once my lady, in King’s Landing. At a feast. The conversation was quite poor.”

Arya tried her best to hide the amusement that crossed her face, but Podrick managed to catch it before she schooled herself back into the serious role she had cast herself in.

“Sansa trusts you, so you must be alright. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll drop the _my lady_ bit with me though,” she said abruptly, turned sharply to make her way back towards the Stark family quarters.

Yes, Arya Stark was beautiful.

And absolutely terrifying.

* * *

  
From then on, their relationship thaws as much as it possibly can. Through hours spent in the training yard, they have formed a friendship of sorts. She’s still very closed off to anyone who is not her family, and even then, he hears the servants talk about the coldness between the sisters Stark. But he’d like to think they have some sort of a bond between them.

“She’s your sister,” he says one afternoon as they take a break from their sword training in the yard. He tries not to greedily gulp down the remaining water from his waterskin, because while the sweat is pouring off of him, Arya hardly looks winded.

“Aye, she is. Doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything she’s doing,” Arya replies with a flick of her eyes up towards the walkway where Petyr Baelish lingers.

Podrick sighs. “Littlefinger. He’s as slimy as they come, but he brought King Jon and Lady Sansa the Knights of the Vale. We wouldn’t be standing here in Winterfell without him,” he reminds her gently as he places the cork back into his waterskin.

Arya just stands back up and picks up her sword, a thin little thing she told him was named Needle and is the preferred weapon for Braavosi water dancers. Podrick heaves a sigh as he makes his way to his own feet and prepares to have his arse handed to him once again. He’s never managed to beat her, nor Lady Brienne, though both of them reassure him that he’s becoming better every day.

“When do you leave?” she questions as she circles him, plotting her first move.

He doesn’t even need to ask her to clarify, because he knows she’s talking about the meeting between the Northern forces, the Dragon Queen, and Queen Cersei in King’s Landing. King Jon -if that’s even what Podrick should be calling him these days as he’s not entirely sure where they stand on Northern Independence - and Queen Daenerys have agreed to fight together against the Night King and the army of the dead, and want to make an agreement with the Lannister forces to gain their needed help. 

Lady Sansa flat out refused to step foot in King’s Landing again, at least not while Cersei Lannister sat on the Iron Throne. He and Lady Brienne were being sent to speak on her behalf.

“In two days’ time,” he says, he quickly sidesteps to deflects her arching lunge.

“Lady Brienne doesn’t want you to stay here and guard Sansa?” Arya asks as she spins out from behind him and lunges once more.

“Lady Sansa seems to think she has plenty of protection,” Podrick grunts as he attempts to round on the smaller girl, who manages to evade him with her surer steps.

The sound of steel clashes in the mostly empty yard, and this is the closest Podrick has ever come to beating either of the two women he so greatly admires. 

Once again he falls short as Arya ducks and dives from his overwide swing and manages to get on up on her feet before he can to turn and face her. Needle is pressed lightly into his neck, and he drops his sword into the mud in defeat.

“And who’s going to protect her from _me?”_ Arya replies quietly, lowering her weapon and stepping into his personal space. Podrick can’t help but to gulp nervously as she looks up at him with those big, expressive Stark grey eyes, her face once again unreadable.

“Arya,” he groans lowly in a voice that doesn’t even seem to be his, recognizable only because he feels his mouth moving.

His chest is heaving, and hers seems to be too. He can almost feel it as she moves a fraction of an inch closer, lips parted and eyes clear.

“Podrick,” she replies lightly before something behind him catches her attention. Within the space of a single blink of his eyes the younger girl is off, and he finds himself standing there completely befuddled.

When he turns his head over his shoulder to see what had Arya leaving so quickly, he’s not surprised in the slightest to see Lady Sansa standing next to Lord Baelish, both of them staring at the spot in front of him that Arya had just vacated.

Lady Sansa’s mouth is slightly downturned, and her brows are furrowed, but it’s not her reaction that causes worry. No, next to her stands Littlefinger with a hint of an amused smirk playing across his lips, and Podrick does not like that at all.

“Podrick!” he hears Lady Brienne calling from off in the distance, and quickly he grabs his sword from where it lies practically forgotten in the mud. He eyes Littlefinger coldly before running off to find out what his lady needs of him.


	2. all of my life i've been sleepwalk living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you uh, get in here anyway?” he asks as he goes to stand next to the blaze she has gotten going.
> 
> Arya looks up at him from where she’s still squatting on the floor and shrugs. “It’s my castle.”
> 
> “It’s Lady Sansa’s castle, technically. Or I suppose it belongs to King Jon, right?”
> 
> “Just Jon now, no more King necessary from what we hear. Bent the knee to get the Dragon Queen to save our arses. Either way, Winterfell belongs to the Starks, and that means it’s partially mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not expect much interaction here until I add the SanSan tag, but c'est la vie! Thank's to those of you who have read!

It’s late in the night when he and Lady Brienne get back to Winterfell, past the evening meal and well after most of the castle has gone to bed. Winterfell looks like it has been preparing for war, which he supposes that it has. Mercifully the influx of people in the castle hasn’t meant a change in rooming for either him or Lady Brienne.

Ideally Podrick would like to crawl into his bed, pile on all the extra furs afforded to him, and sleep until the midday meal. If he’s lucky, Lady Brienne will allow them both a few extra hours before getting on with their days. It was rough work, getting back into the routine of life in the North and the training of all the unfortunate bastards who have never held a blade in their life. Seven hells, but they were all but hopeless when it came to to defending themselves from the enemy coming for all of them.

When he opens the door to his room, he’s pleased to see someone had made sure a fire had been set and goes about peeling off all the extra layers he’s taken to wearing in order to fight the chill. He’s down to his breaches and undershirt when he finally turns around and practically yelps when none other than Arya Stark has been sitting on the top of his bed.

“Seven hells, Arya,” he nearly shouts, only just remembering where he is and what time it is. And just exactly _who_ it is sitting on the bed across from him.

“Sansa said you and Lady Brienne would be back today. I didn’t expect you to get here so late,” she demurs, sliding off the bed and setting another log on the fire.

“Have you um, have you been waiting here all day?” he questions as he pulls a tunic over his linen undershirt.

“Of course not. Just since the evening meal was over. You haven’t thanked me for the fire yet, by the way,” Arya replies over her shoulder from where she’s poking at the burning logs in the hearth.

“Thank you,” Podrick says with a yawn as he looks at his bed with longing. Something tells him Arya isn’t quite ready to leave here yet.

“How did you uh, get in here anyway?” he asks as he goes to stand next to the blaze she has gotten going.

Arya looks up at him from where she’s still squatting on the floor and shrugs. “It’s my castle.”

“It’s Lady Sansa’s castle, technically. Or I suppose it belongs to King Jon, right?”

“Just Jon now, no more King necessary from what we hear. Bent the knee to get the Dragon Queen to save our arses. Either way, Winterfell belongs to the Starks, and that means it’s partially mine.”

Podrick nods in silent agreement and goes to offer the girl a hand to get back up off the floor, but thinks better of it and pulls his hands close to his mouth to blow on them instead. Despite the fires, the layers, and the furs, he’s still a Southroner and even the best gloves can’t quite keep the chill from his fingertips. 

“We killed Littlefinger,” she says as casually as someone would talk about the weather.

“ _What_ ?” is all he can manage - it’s really the last thing he was expecting to happen tonight, not that he was expecting _any_ of this to happen tonight.

“He tried to divide Sansa and I, nearly succeeded too -but we caught on soon enough. Bran was – well you know about _Bran_ – but he was helpful. He told us that Littlefinger betrayed Father and whispered in Joffrey’s ear to have him beheaded as a show of power. The look on his face when Sansa called him out of the audience at the trial... you should have seen it Pod,” she tells him as she pops up from her spot on the ground.

“Did you do it?”

Arya just shrugs. “We did it together - Bran, Sansa and me. I slit his throat with the Valyrian steel blade he had meant to kill Bran, once - after he fell from the tower, did I tell you? Littlefinger sent an assassin. So I killed him, it’s true, but _we_ got our vengeance for Father together.” She studies him causally in the glow of the firelight, detached and almost disaffected by the execution she was describing aside from the faint glint in her grey eyes. 

Podrick isn’t entirely sure how to respond. While he will certainly not miss Lord Baelish, it’s times like this he’s reminded how easily it would be for this girl he has growing affection for to kill him.

“Did you see them?” Arya asks after a beat of silence. “The dragons, did you get to see them?”

“Oh, aye. From a distance at least. Terrifying and um, amazing. I remember reading about them as a boy, and uhh seeing the skulls of the old Targaryen dragons in the, um, Red Keep when I squired there. I never thought I’d uh, I’d see one in person, ever.”

Arya smiles at that, probably the closest to a genuine smile he’s ever seen on her. “They were supposed to be gone; a lot of things were supposed to be gone. Dragons, the White Walkers, wargs. And now they are all back, and it feels like we’re at the end of world.” She pauses, twiddles a poker in the fire. “Do you think they are going to be enough?”

“Two dragons are better than none. Ki- _Jon_ and Queen Daenerys are um, bringing back all the mined dragonglass, and another uh, blacksmith to help with the forging. It’s, it’s the best we can hope for,” he replies as Arya studies him from across the small space in between them. She looks like she’s about to move closer before she gives the slightest shake of her head and steps towards the door.

“I’ll see you in the yard tomorrow, Podrick. You look exhausted. Good night,” she says abruptly in that way of hers;equal parts cryptic and demanding, yet somehow totally endearing.

“Good night Arya,” he replies through a yawn and a shake of his head. As the door clicks shut, he practically falls into his bed.

* * *

The next few weeks move quickly. Ravens fly at all hours of the day, reports of the Dragon Queen's armies and the supply line of dragonglass arrive mixed with messages from various keeps across the North requesting help. Missives of all things, all requesting to bring their supplies and people in order to protect them within the walls of Winterfell, an urgent gathering now that the dead are coming.

Through it all, Podrick continues to train with both Arya and Lady Brienne. He has yet to beat either lady, and he’s started to believe that victory might be next to impossible. At the very least, Lady Brienne has given him the responsibility of training some of the younger boys as they show up to Winterfell, and he thinks he’s doing a pretty okay job with that – he’s also been able to disarm more than a handful of the capable fighters that have started to swell their ranks.

“You need to be better at watching your left flank,” Arya says from behind him one afternoon as he runs drills with the new men at Winterfell.

Podrick gives her a thankful nod as she continues to make her way through the field, pausing here and there to watch the men and give her advice.

“What woulda little girl like you know ‘bout fightin’?” one of the men grumbles, and before he knows it Arya has him disarmed and on the ground, Needle poking deep into his cheek.

“I was taught to fight by Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos, in the Red Keep while my father was the Hand of the King. I traveled with the Brothers of the Night’s Watch on the King’s Road, was taken hostage by the Mountain and his men, and then again by the brotherhood without banners. After that, I traveled with Sandor Clegane, the _Hound_ , through the Riverlands and the Vale, before finding myself in Braavos at the House of Black and White. I trained with the Faceless Men to be an assassin and left on my _own_ accord. How many people do you think just walk away from the Faceless Men?” she says while emphasizing the last part with a press of the pointy end of Needle. It's _just_ deep enough into the man’s cheek that a thin line of blood is drawn.

“None m’lady, I mean no offence,” the man sputters as Arya lets him go.

Podrick watches the whole display with a mixed amount of curiosity and awe. Of course, over the time they have known each other, Arya has opened up about certain aspects of her time on the road after fleeing King’s Landing. That last bit though, the part about the Faceless Men, is entirely new information to him.

He turns it around in his mind, letting it fit into the picture of Arya he carries there. Entirely distracted at this point, he welcomes the break for the midday meal eagerly. 

“Is uh, that last part you mentioned, that’s uh, that’s true?” the question flows out of his mouth without preamble when he arrives beside Arya on the way into the Great Hall mere moments later. 

Arya’s face is entirely blank, in that eerie way she’s so good at that Podrick mostly doesn’t even notice anymore. “After the Vale, I booked passage to Braavos with a coin given to me by a Faceless Man who called himself Jaqen H’gar - at least when I knew him. I trained there, but I couldn’t leave Arya Stark behind to join them, so I left. Now I’m here.”

Podrick just nods and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile while he follows her towards the Great Hall for their meal.

“Oh, Lady Arya, there you are,” Maester Wolkan interrupts them just as they are about to enter the Great Hall. Podrick makes to leave before the maester stops him. “You might as well stick around to hear this too Payne, all members of the household need informed.”

“Get on with it,” Arya says with no small amount of annoyance. Podrick knows she has insisted several times to the maester to _not_ call her Lady Arya, but the man is nothing but persistent.

“A raven came this morning, Lord Jon and Queen Daenerys will reach Winterfell tomorrow. Lady Sansa has requested both your presences to greet them upon their arrival,” Wolkan informs them before allowing them to continue their way towards the Great Hall.

“Why would they include me?” Podrick wonders aloud as he settles into a bench, grabbing for some of the hard bread in front of him.

To absolutely no surprise of his , or really anyone else in the castle if he were to be perfectly honest, Arya slides in across from him and starts filling her own plate, even though her spot at the head table is sitting empty.

“Small household here at Winterfell these days. You’ve proven your loyalty to the North, and specifically Sansa. Can’t have a queen showing up to just the three of us,” she mutters as she scoops a ladle full of soup into her bowl.

“You _will_ be there, right Arya?” he questions, because if he knows her as well as he thinks he does, which is pretty well at this point, he’d be more surprised if she actually _did_ something Lady Sansa requested.  
  
She pointedly ignores him as she scoops another ladle of soup into her bowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to scream in the following places: [twitter](https://twitter.com/_starlux/) and [tumblr](https://starlux-s.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or a kudos! I appreciate them!


	3. what it feels like when im next to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s getting late when they finally wrap up, Winterfell quite for the first time Podrick can even remember – folks huddled around fires eating what is likely their last meals, preparing themselves for a battle they seemingly are not like to win. The building has gone somber as the smiths start closing up the forge.
> 
> Next to him, Gendry clears his throat while rubbing the back of his neck. “Good luck mate. What’s the saying? I wish you… uh…”
> 
> “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come,” Podrick supplies with a smile that feels out of place and a firm handshake.
> 
> “Right. To you too. I hope to see you on the other side,” Gendry replies as Podrick starts to head to the door. “And if you see Arya, can you let her know I have her weapon completed?”

Of course, Arya is nowhere to be seen, but at least Lady Sansa doesn’t seem to be at all surprised by this. Podrick is pretty sure he hears Lady Sansa tell Jon –  _ Lord _ Jon? – that she’s “lurking somewhere”, which would be an apt description of exactly what the younger Stark sister does when she’s not in the yard, or bothering him, these days.

The introduction of Daenerys – Queen Daenerys? – Targaryen and Lady Sansa could be described as nothing less than frosty. Podrick keeps his eyes trained on the gates as more men make their way through, and he feels a bit desperate to break ranks and be  _ useful _ in some manner. He knows shit-all about forging, but dragonglass needs moved and fires need built and did Lord Bran just inform Queen Daenerys that  _ the Night King _ has one of her dragons?

Things move quickly after that, and Podrick finds himself helping move obsidian from wagons to the forge. The new blacksmith can’t be all that much older than him, maybe a year or so, but it’s likely a trade he started to learn at a young age and Ser Davos assured Lady Sansa in one of his letters that Gendry Waters knew what he was doing.

“Arrowheads and spears are what we’re going to be focusing on,” Gendry tells him as Podrick dutifully unloads the cart of dragonglass that one of the Unsullied has brought to the forge. He had tried to thank him, but the solider didn’t seem to speak the common tongue – or maybe he just didn’t care for Westerosi courtesies.  
  
“You’ve seen them then? The dead?” he asks the blacksmith as he shovels out the black stone.

Gendry nods. “Aye, went with Jon and a few others past the Wall to bring one of them fuckers back as proof to Queen Cersei. Saw Jon kill one of the Walkers with that fancy sword of his.”

“And when he says thousands of them are marching on Winterfell and the North…”

The blacksmith just grimaces as they continue to shovel the much-needed materials into large piles throughout the forge. It’s not that Podrick has ever doubted King – Lord? What  _ is _ his title? – Jon, his lady has put her faith in Lady Sansa who in return trusts her brother explicitly, but it’s something else entirely to really believe that certain death is knocking on their door. Having it confirmed by someone else just brings a level of realness – and dread - to the entire situation that wasn’t previously there.

Podrick spends the rest of the morning helping in the forge in any way that he can. Lady Brienne had assured him that much of her morning would be spent with Lady Sansa in meetings with the Dragon Queen and the Northern Lords, and that they would be training outside the walls of Winterfell after the midday meal. The prospect of free time with the sudden influx of people in the castle felt unfair, so he had set about staying busy until he needed to meet his lady.

“Thank you, for the help around here. You probably had better things to be doing as a squire,” Gendry tells him as he wipes the sweat from his brow in the near sweltering forge.  


Winter, it seems, has come to every inch of the North except for the walls of this very forge. Podrick hasn’t felt this warm since leaving King’s Landing all those years ago.

“He’s a squire, helping is his job,” The Hound barks at them as he bursts into the room and strides over to where the two younger men stand. He’s no less terrifying than he was on the night the Blackwater burned when Podrick was but ten and six, or in the Vale when he fought Lady Brienne.

“Hound,” Podrick says in acknowledgment as he makes to leave for the Great Hall, and the older man just gruffs at him.

He’s so distracted by the brief interaction that he nearly walks right into Arya.

“What were you doing in there?” she asks without a greeting, which is not outside of the normal for them.

“Helping. What were  _ you _ doing this morning?” he counters as her eyebrows narrow and she sets him with a glare.

“I was down in the winter town with the smallfolk watching the procession. Jon’s dragon queen put on quite the display,” she says with a snort and an eye roll.

“She’s our queen too,” Podrick reminds her softly. “She’s here to help, Arya.”  


“At the expense of Northern freedom, something  _ both _ my brother and mother died for.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Arya,” he half sighs as he runs a hand through his hair.

The younger girl works her jaw while breathing heavily out of her nose. If he wasn’t still half afraid that she would pull a knife on him, he would attempt to comfort her, maybe place a hand on her shoulder. But he's learned many things about Arya Stark over the last few months, namely that one should always let  _ her _ initiate any physical contact lest she stab you. Instead, he folds his hands in front of himself, thumb rubbing knuckles in a nervous tick he’s never quite been able to stop.

“It’s your freedom too, you know,” she finally replies as she looks up and locks eyes with him.

“I’m from the Westerlands. Technically I’m still a subject of the Iron Throne, although I’m sure there’s been some sort of warrant for my arrest issued by Queen Cersei. Openly committing treason is frowned upon by monarchs.”

Arya scoffs. “You’re loyal to the North. You’re one of us now.”  
  
“I’m loyal to Lady Sansa,” he replies before adding, “And you. I’m loyal to you.” He feels his cheeks turning red, hopes that he can pass it off for heat from the forge.

If the younger girl is at all flustered by his honesty, she doesn’t show it, and simply shrugs. “Same difference,” she replies before stepping around him and into the forge. “I’ll see you later Podrick. I have business to take care of.”

He stands there watching her walk away until The Hound makes his way out of the forge, nearly running him over. The older man gives him a once over before looking back to the forge himself.

“Aye, buncha bloody fuckin’ fools you lot are. Death is upon us Payne, no time to be swooning over highborn girls.”

“I’m… I’m not swooning _,_ _Hound_ ,” he says as he finally sets off to the yard.

“Oh aye? Coulda fooled me,  _ pup _ .”  
  


* * *

They are out of time.

What remains of the Night's Watch and Tormund’s free folk company make their way to Winterfell within a fortnight to deliver the news they have all been waiting for – the Night King and his army will be there before sunrise tomorrow, and final preparations must be made. Lady Brienne sets Pod to the task of helping the smiths arm their ragtag division of fighters with their dragonglass blades while she attends one last meeting with the war council.

“Arya says you’ve become a good friend to her since coming to Winterfell,” Gendry tells him as they pass blades to men and women alike.

This startles Podrick, because of course he feels the same way, maybe even a little stronger for the youngest Stark sister that he would ever freely admit. It’s just that he never expected Arya to ever bring up their friendship up to  _ anyone. _ He's not even sure if Lady Sansa is aware and the sisters are as thick as thieves these days.

“My lady is her sworn shield. We’ve uh, bonded, I guess,” he replies as nonchalantly as he can manage.

Gendry laughs. “We both know Arya doesn’t need a sworn shield.”

“Oh aye, mostly we’ve bonded over her and Lady Brienne kicking my arse repeatedly in the yard.”

The smith laughs again. “She could kick mine too. I would welcome it even.”

“Did you two travel together? I know you both have connections to the brotherhood,” he trails off, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. It feels strange to ask other people about Arya, like he’s prying into parts of her life she hasn’t been willing to share with him.

“For a time, yeah. Left Kings Landing together with the Watch, she was traveling disguised as a boy and I figured her out. Captured by the Mountain before escaping from Harrenhal, though she never told me how she got us out. We were on our own with a friend named Hot Pie for a while. The brotherhood found us and decided to ransom Arya back to her brother, before we came across The Hound at the Inn at the Crossroads. Hot Pie stayed behind, Arya and I traveled with the brotherhood until they sold me to the Red Woman.” He works his jaw, as if reluctant to chase that memory any further. “Arya was a kid the last time I saw her, but I’m not surprised she survived. Always resilient.”

“I’ve met Hot Pie. Good bread.”

“He’s still there then? At the Inn?”

“Aye. It’s where Lady Brienne and I found Lady Sansa.”

Gendry looks at him dumbfounded. “I thought you helped save her from the Boltons when she and Theon Greyjoy escaped?”  


“Uh. Aye, we did. That was some months later, after Ramsay Bolton defeated King Stannis outside Winterfell. How… how did you know about that?”

“Arya. She’s quite proud of how you lot took back Winterfell.”

“Oh. Well. Lady Brienne and I weren’t here for that. We had gone to Riverrun to treat with Ser Jaime and the Blackfish on behalf of Lady Sansa.”

Gendry gives him a good hard look before being interrupted by another one of the smiths, so Podrick takes the free moment to restock their dwindling pile of blades. When Gendry returns to the table they have made use of, he resumes work quietly as they realize the line of men and women needing the precious dragonglass blades far outmatches their supplies.

It’s getting late when they finally wrap up, Winterfell quite for the first time Podrick can even remember – folks huddled around fires eating what is likely their last meals, preparing themselves for a battle they seemingly are not like to win. The building has gone somber as the smiths start closing up the forge.

Next to him, Gendry clears his throat while rubbing the back of his neck. “Good luck mate. What’s the saying? I wish you… uh…”

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come,” Podrick supplies with a smile that feels out of place and a firm handshake.

“Right. To you too. I hope to see you on the other side,” Gendry replies as Podrick starts to head to the door. “And if you see Arya, can you let her know I have her weapon completed?”

Podrick nods as he reaches the door and walks out into the freezing night air of the North. He spots Lady Brienne talking to Lady Sansa near one of the many fires, and heads over to where the two women stand, awaiting whatever his next task for the evening might be. Lady Sansa greets him with eyes brimming with tears and a watery smile, while shocking him by pulling him into a hug instead of her normal head bow of acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Podrick. For everything. You were kind to me in Kings Landing, you helped save me from the Bolton’s, and you’ve somehow even managed to make my sister act like a person again. Be safe,” the Lady of Winterfell tells him in a hushed voice as she gives him one last squeeze before excusing herself.

“What just happened?” he asks Lady Brienne as she leads them across the yard in hopes of finding a fire to warm them up and maybe catch a few precious minutes of sleep.

“Everyone reacts to battle differently, Pod,” his lady replies in her typical annoyed tone with him.

“Last time I saw Lady Sansa before a battle she was egging on King Joffrey with taunts about her brother the night of the Blackwater.”

Lady Brienne’s lips uplift, just a little. “Best keep her away from our new queen then.”

As they start taking the stairs that will lead them up the ramparts and towards the keep proper, Podrick catches Arya out of the corner of his eye making her way across the yard with a sense of determination. He can't help but track her movements until she makes her way to the doors of the forge, presumably to get her weapon, presumably to spend her remaining time with a man she loves, a man that’s not him. Something, he realizes with sudden clarity, that would be heartbreaking enough on it’s own but doubly so when he knows there’s a chance he’ll never see her again.

Arya looks up and over her shoulder, eyes locking with his from across the yard as she reaches for the smithys door. He swallows thickly, unable to look away from the woman who has captured his heart in a way he never anticipated, as her hand falters mid-air. The youngest Stark girl quirks an eyebrow at him, and he raises his hand in greeting as she gives him some version of what she probably considers a smile – it doesn’t reach her eyes in the way he knows her smile does – before she pulls open the door and disappears from sight.

“Let’s go find somewhere warm, Pod -sit while we can. It’s going to be a long night,” his lady says as she urges him along, completely unaware of what has transpired.


	4. i imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s following Brienne through the crowded yard to the best of his ability when a smaller figure is practically pushed directly into him by scrambling soldiers. It takes a moment for him to realize its Arya, and he throws a silent thanks to the old gods and the new for this last opportunity to see her.
> 
> “Podrick,” she says first as she steps out of his personal space.
> 
> “Arya,” he returns. He swears her eyes soften for a fraction of a second before she pulls herself back together and resumes the character of cold-blooded killer she so often dons.
> 
> “Try not to get killed, I’m not done kicking your arse in the practice yard,” she says quietly.
> 
> “All the more motivation to stay alive,” he replies, full genuine smile pulling across his face.

“Podrick, after all our years together, I didn’t know you could sing,” Lord Tyrion tells him, breaking the quiet. The room had fallen into a solemn hush during his rendition of Jenny of Oldstones. “Maybe when this is all done, you’ll start traveling Westeros as a bard instead of Ser Brienne’s squire.”

Ser Davos looks at him askance. “Lad, aren’t you a bit old-”

“To be a squire? I reckon, but um… I’ll stay at the service of Ser Brienne as long as she’ll keep me.”

“Thank you, Pod,” his lady says quietly as the room falls back into silence.

It’s a strange mix of company here tonight. There’s lots of things he has always thought he would want to spend his last hours doing over the years on the road, and it never occurred to him that he would actually be happy to be sitting around a fire with the Lannister brothers, the infamous Onion Knight, a wilding chieftain and his lady, but in the moment there is nowhere he’d rather be. Well, maybe  _ one _ other place.

“We’re going to win this,” Tormund says suddenly. “I feel it in my bones. My people are not meant to all die in the South.”

Ser Jaime tilts his head and wrinkles his brow. “This is the North.”

“Anything South of the Wall is the South to us free folk, kneeler.”

A loud, piercing horn jolts all of them from their discussion. The second horn comes just as quickly, and everyone is already scrambling to their feet, goblets and chairs left forgotten as they gird themselves for the fight ahead.

Podrick doesn’t hear the third horn. All he can think is that he’s lost his chance to bid farewell to Arya Stark.

“Let’s go Pod. Ser Jaime, you as well. Our men will be waiting,” his lady commands as Ser Davos and Tormund scurry out of the hall in front them, presumably to their own posts of command for the battle ahead.  
  
They exit the room in a flurry of armor and light, as Tyrion’s final words ring in their ears. 

“Jaime -don’t be stupid. I’d rather you not die after we fought to keep you alive here. Ser Brienne, it’s been a pleasure. Pod, I meant it when I said there has never been a more loyal squire. Be safe,” Tyrion’s voice is half-breathless, half-resolute as they rush through the halls of Winterfell and towards their impending doom.

“I’ll do my best, Lord Tyrion,” Podrick replies with a slight nod as he rushes along his lady and Ser Jaime.

If it’s even possible, it’s gotten colder in the few hours they have been inside, Podricks teeth instantly chattering as they exit the double doors of the keep and into the busy yard. He vaguely recalls Samwell Tarly and Gilly telling them that the Night King brings the cold with him, that the extreme drop in temperate is a warning sign he or the other Walkers are near. However, this cold is stronger and hits his bones deeper than he even thought was possible. If they don’t die at the hands of the undead horde that’s bearing down on them, the miserable cold itself might just do them in.

He’s following Brienne through the crowded yard to the best of his ability when a smaller figure is practically pushed directly into him by scrambling soldiers. It takes a moment for him to realize its Arya, and he throws a silent thanks to the old gods and the new for this last opportunity to see her.

“Podrick,” she says first as she steps out of his personal space.

“Arya,” he returns. He swears her eyes soften for a fraction of a second before she pulls herself back together and resumes the character of cold-blooded killer she so often dons.

“Try not to get killed, I’m not done kicking your arse in the practice yard,” she says quietly.

“All the more motivation to stay alive,” he replies, full genuine smile pulling across his face.

Arya rolls her eyes.

Considering this is his last chance, he reaches out and pulls the shorter girl to his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his nose into her hair. He knows, logically, that Arya is dangerous, and he could be making a miscalculation here, but the fact that she asked him to try and stay alive leaves him with the impression that she’s not going to pull a knife on him. To his utter surprise the youngest Stark sister returns the gesture moments later, her slim arms coming quickly around his waist as she gives him a short embrace. He pulls away just enough to look at her momentarily, commits her face to memory in case it really is the last time, and then lets her go completely as he spots Ser Brienne’s head over top of the crowd.

“Stay alive,” the woman who against all odds he’s come to love urges one last time. He jerks his head in the direction of his lady in explanation and farewell.

“Anything for you,” he says with as much sincerity as he can put behind his words, not taking the time to watch for her reaction, knowing that whatever it is could shatter him completely one way or the other.

Moments before a battle that will seal the fate of the entire world isn’t exactly the time for all of this.  
  


* * *

  
It ends as suddenly as it all started, with the skeletal figures Podrick has spent the last hours fighting back dropping to a heap. Podrick leans against the wall he, Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne have found themselves backed up against, breathing heavily and looking about in disbelief. The moment is bewildering to everyone who remains fighting for the side of the living, the enemy there one moment and deaminated the next. No one is entirely sure what has happened, other than that Lord Jon – Podrick’s pretty sure he’s right about that  _ Lord _ bit now – or perhaps Queen Daenerys have managed to kill the Night King 

“Is it over?” he hears a fearful voice call from somewhere in the yard. Podrick is fairly certain it’s Samwell Tarly, the sworn brother of the Nights Watch that inexplicably has a child and maybe a  _ wife? _ He had insisted on fighting even after Lord Jon had asked him otherwise. Podrick marvels at the fact that the man is still alive.

Several things happen at once. The surviving Northmen gain their wits about them and start searching for their families – it’s pure chaos of an entirely different level than moments ago when they were fighting the wights. It takes Ser Brienne several moments before she’s scrambling down the pile of corpses they have found themselves on, yelling back at him and Ser Jaime about the crypts, which is all it takes to spur the two of them into action. Lady Sansa is down there, as is Lord Tyrion and many other women and children of the North, and they likely have no idea what is happening above.

The crypt door is flung open before Ser Brienne manages to reach it, the people from below flowing out in a steady stream, some covered in their fair share of blood and gore. Whatever happened down there has left the occupants shaken as they also start their search for remaining kin. Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa are the last ones to leave the crypts doors, the Lannister brothers reuniting by throwing their arms around each other with tears in their eyes.

The Lady of Winterfell is frantic, panting and wild-eyed as she grips the handle of a half-forgotten dagger with pale fingers. “Brienne! Pod!” She gasps, stumbles, righting herself with only a shadow of her usual composure “Have you seen them? Have you seen my sister? My brothers?”

“No, my lady, it was -It was a massacre up here. I haven’t seen your brothers or sister since before this all started, but we’ll find them,” Ser Brienne explains in the most calming voice she can manage under the circumstances. Podrick notices Lady Sansa’s eyes filling with tears and steps in to offer her his arm, which the noble takes with a gracious, watery smile before leaning her head on his shoulder in a moment of exhaustion.

“What exactly happened… um… down there? My lady?” he asks as he carefully leads Lady Sansa through the piles of rubble and bodies that strewn the castle. Ser Brienne keeps looking back over the shoulder at them as she tries to get them to the godswood – the place where Bran was taken before the fight.

“The Old Kings of Winter,” is the only answer the now solemn lady gives him as her eyes take in the amount of death and decay that now plagues her home once again.

They find the rest of the Stark siblings in various states of shock under the Heart tree in the middle of the godswood. This place has always been a little unnerving to Podrick during his stay in Winterfell. The godswood is old and powerful, the faces carved into the weirdwood trees cry red sap tears, and it feels like they are looking directly into his soul. Growing up in the South meant following the Seven, and while Podrick has never been particularly devout, it feels queer standing before gods that aren’t his own.

Lady Sansa all but flies to her siblings as soon as she hears Lord Jon call out to them. This too should feel uncomfortable, he and Ser Brienne being present at such an intimate moment for the family they serve, but instead it fills him with relief. Arya looks worse for wear, as does Lord Jon, but she’s alive – as if he ever had any doubt that she would be. Even covered in blood – some her own, some the enemies she’s slain tonight – he still finds her beautiful, even more so now that she’s smiling while wrapped in a hug with her sister.

“We should leave you alone,” Ser Brienne attempts to beg off before Arya insists that they stay.

“You’re part of our pack now, Lady Brienne. You  _ and  _ Podrick. We want you here.”

“It’s ser now,” he speaks up on behalf of his knight, flicking his head towards the woman he stands next to as the Stark sisters give him a quizzical look.

“Brienne? Were you knighted?” Lady Sansa asks with a slow spreading smile.

The lady knight bows her head in embarrassment, “Ser Jaime knighted me prior to the battle. I didn’t think I would be alive long enough for it to matter.”

The red head lets go of her siblings and crosses the godswood to envelop her sworn shield into a hug.

Lady Sansa lets go of her guard and turns back to her siblings. “How did it happen, Jon? How did you kill him - the Night King?”

Lord Jon and Arya share a look between them before Lord Jon shakes his head towards his sister. “I didn’t. It wasn’t me,” he replies as he dips his head towards the youngest Stark sister.

“Arya? But… Jon… I don’t – I don’t understand.”

Arya takes a deep breath before setting into an unbelievable tale of her part of the battle tonight. Or it would be unbelievable if they hadn’t all spent the night fighting a horde of the undead themselves. She tells them of making her way to the library and hiding there while regaining her wits about herself, of slaying wights in between the rows of parchment there and fleeing down a hall when the horde became too big. She gets unexpectedly emotional when she tells them of Beric Dondarrion giving his last life for her and the Hound to be able to escape and barricade themselves in the great hall, and of the Red Woman reminding her of what we say to the god of death.

“Not today,” the younger girl informs them when Lord Jon asks for an explanation.

Bran sits quietly as all of this is going on, staring blankly ahead in the same soulless way the trees stare.  
  
“Theon saved me. He tried to kill the Night King when he arrived. It gave Arya enough time,” he intones in his standard melancholy voice. Lady Sansa’s eyes well up again and Lord Jon wraps an arm around her shoulder while murmuring something Podrick can’t quite make out.

“I knew I had one chance. I almost failed,” Arya states as she looks at her younger brother.

“You did exactly as you were supposed to. You all did.”  
  


* * *

  
The morning sun is rising in the sky before the Starks make their way out of the godswood. Podrick is bone tired, but there is work to do. They can rest once their dead has been given proper treatment.

“You stayed alive,” Arya says as she appears by his side out of nowhere.

Podrick gives her a tired grin. “You gave me motivation.”


	5. don't stare, don't stare (i've got feelings for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night after near most of the castle has gone to bed, Podrick finds himself in the Stark family solar, crowded in with the remaining members of the war council as they discuss how they will go about honoring the dead.
> 
> He’s not entirely sure why he’s there, he’s never been asked to sit in on one before and while Ser Brienne promised this was going to be a short discussion, he catches his eyes drooping more than once as he stands back behind his lady knight.
> 
> A poke to the side jolts him awake, and he doesn’t even need to look to know who it is that does it.
> 
> “Why am I even here, Arya? I’m no one important,” he murmurs as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life has been a bit insane these past few weeks, so I apologize for the delay in the update! On to chapter five!

It takes the better part of the whole day to clear bodies out of the walls of Winterfell. It was discovered early that the remains of the undead crumbled to ash as the living attempted to move them in the search for their own, which caused a morbid sense of relief to wash across the survivors of the battle. Podrick is certain they would have worked through the night if the Dragon Queen hadn’t insisted that everyone take a rest, a sentiment echoed by both Lady Sansa and Lord Jon.

“We can’t honor them properly if we can't stand on our own feet,” Lord Jon insisted as a simple supper of soup and brown bread was served as the evening meal.

That night after near most of the castle has gone to bed, Podrick finds himself in the Stark family solar, crowded in with the remaining members of the war council as they discuss how they will go about honoring the dead.

He’s not entirely sure why he’s there, he’s never been asked to sit in on one before and while Ser Brienne promised this was going to be a short discussion, he catches his eyes drooping more than once as he stands back behind his lady knight.

A poke to the side jolts him awake, and he doesn’t even need to look to know who it is that does it.

“Why am I even here, Arya? I’m no one important,” he murmurs as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

He can feel her gaze but doesn’t turn to meet it. Not here, not surrounded by all these people who would undoubtedly question the nature of the relationship between a squire and a highborn lady. He stands up a little straighter and does his best to listen to the conversation being had, but her gaze is still steady on his profile and he can feel his cheeks reddening.

Finally, with a quiet sigh of defeat, he chances a glance in her direction. Arya quirks an eyebrow up at him, which makes him furrow his own brows deeply.

“I told you. You’re part of the pack now. You get to be here,” she replies just loud enough for him to hear before she walks around the table to stand next to her sister.

“So, it’s settled. Tomorrow morning the remaining free folk, Dothraki and Unsullied will start building the pyres. The remaining Northmen will help identify the bodies of those we lost, Maester Wolken and Sam will be responsible for keeping a log. Missandei, Grey Worm and Lord Varys will help identify the Dothraki and Unsullied. Tormund will do the same for his people,” Lord Jon commands the room with his deep, somber voice as the room looks on.

“Queen Daenerys and I will oversee all of that directly. Lord Tyrion, Ser Davos and Lady Sansa will take account of our stores and remaining supplies. Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime will assist them in their task. Gendry and the remaining blacksmiths have restarted the forge, and they will start repairing weapons and armor for the march South. If I haven’t mentioned you by name directly, come find me before you go to your rooms for the night. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, we need our sleep.”

With that the room breaks into quite chatter as different pockets of people make their way out of the solar and off towards a well deserved nights sleep. Podrick finds himself lagging behind, waiting for Lord Jon to say his goodnights as the room empties. Soon enough it’s down to him, Lord Jon and Arya standing around the table.

The tired once-king looks up at the two of them and gives them a weary smile. “I’ve been told you both get on quite well with Gendry?”

Arya gives a barely concealed smirk. Podrick just shrugs.

“You could say that,” the two of them reply at the same time, causing Lord Jon to bark a laugh.

“Alright. The forge will need help tomorrow, organizing weapons for the smiths that need mended. Ser Brienne suggested you for the task Podrick.”

“Let me guess, Sansa volunteered my services?” Arya quips as she leans against the table.

Jon gives his younger sister a level glare. “Would you rather help move bodies?”

Arya stands up straight, brows furrowed as she looks Lord Jon directly in the eye before speaking in a low voice. “Only if I get to keep their faces.”

The Lord Paramount sighs deeply and wipes a hand down his face. “Not tonight Arya. The forge, tomorrow. Please.”

Podrick follows the younger Stark out of the solar, parting ways with her with a simple goodnight as she heads the opposite direction from him to her rooms.  
  


* * *

  
The forge is hot enough to melt the skin straight off his bones, or so Podrick thinks as he spends his morning silently sorting through weapons of the fallen and standing alike. It shouldn’t be awkward in here, he’s not even sure if anything had happened between Arya and Gendry – and if it did it wasn’t his business anyway – but the room lapsed into unnerving silence almost immediately after Gendry gave them their directions some while ago. Podrick knows he’s the silent type, always more likely to pick up and observe other actions than to make a spectacle of himself, and he’s been getting very distinct vibes off the two since they started working.

There’s a giant elephant in the room, and he’s starting to think it might be him.

A welcomed cut to the tension comes in the form of Lady Brienne, telling them that Lady Arya is needed by her sister and brothers, and that the rest of them should wrap things up quickly if they would like to clean themselves up before the remaining forces meet outside the castle walls to honor their dead.

As soon as the door shuts behind the two ladies, Gendry clears his throat loud enough to catch Podrick’s attention.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” the blacksmith states plainly.

Podrick remains stoned face, or at least the best he can. “Pardon?”

The older man sighs, just a little bit, just enough to show he’s annoyed, just enough to reveal that he at least suspects Podrick’s feelings. “I’m going to ask Arya to marry me. Tonight. After the feast. I just thought I would do you the favor of letting you know.”

“I’m not her kin. You’d do better to let Lord Jon know,” Podrick replies with a casual coolness to his voice.

The blacksmith steps around the table that separates them, coming to stand directly next to Pod. He’s taller, if only slightly, and muscled like a bull – which he supposes makes sense considering who his rumored father is. Once, Pod would have been intimidated by the act, but he’s killed a Kingsguard and fought the Bolton’s and survived the undead, so instead he turns and looks the man directly in the eye.

“I don’t know what was going on between the two of you before I got here. You’ve been at Winterfell some time now, and I know Arya has a soft spot for you – don’t try and deny it, she’s talked about you nonstop since I got here. But she came to me before the dead marched on us, she chose me. So whatever your feelings are, you just need to let them go.”

It feels like a crushing weight is pressing onto his chest as he absorbs the words this man has to tell him. Of course he’s not stupid, he knew what he saw when Arya was sneaking into the forge, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting when its confirmed.

“Good luck then. You have my congratulations,” is all he replies before side stepping Gendry and making his way to his rooms to clean up.


	6. cause the hole inside my heart is stupid deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smoke from the funeral pyres is all consuming, burning his eyes as he stands back behind the remaining Starks as they grieve their lost loved ones and fellow Northmen. No one dares speak a word as the flames grow higher in front of them, but he can hear the silent sobs from the Lady of Winterfell. It’s for Theon , he thinks, the man that saved her from these very walls when he and Ser Brienne couldn’t get her to come with them all those years ago. He was stacked like cordwood on the fire now, with so many others as his companions into the next life. 
> 
> After a long while, Lord Jon clears his throat and proclaims that tonight there will be a feast, to celebrate their victory and honor their dead. Podrick looks up to Ser Brienne, who in turn is staring at Ser Jaime, then over to Gendry, who can’t keep his eyes off of Arya. Arya - it seems – is too concerned with her siblings to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I am back! A lot has happened over the last few weeks for me here, but I'm settling back into a regular routine. Short explanation: I messed up my sciatic nerve thanks to the hours I was keeping at my job (giant corporate daycare center - a bad time) and ended up on bed rest because I couldn't move/feel my back basically at all. Right at the same time I got a call asking if I would like to interview for a position at a much smaller, private daycare and got hired on the spot. It's my first time being a lead teacher so I've been crazy busy with lesson plans and simply settling in to my new routine. Everything else was on the back burner, but now that things a more normal (as normal as they can be these days) I'm getting back to work on finishing this bad boy up.

The smoke from the funeral pyres is all consuming, burning his eyes as he stands back behind the remaining Starks as they grieve their lost loved ones and fellow Northmen. No one dares speak a word as the flames grow higher in front of them, but he can hear the silent sobs from the Lady of Winterfell. _It’s for Theon_ , he thinks, the man that saved her from these very walls when he and Ser Brienne couldn’t get her to come with them all those years ago. He was stacked like cordwood on the fire now, with so many others as his companions into the next life.   
  
After a long while, Lord Jon clears his throat and proclaims that tonight there will be a feast, to celebrate their victory and honor their dead. Podrick looks up to Ser Brienne, who in turn is staring at Ser Jaime, then over to Gendry, who can’t keep his eyes off of Arya. Arya - it seems – is too concerned with her siblings to notice.  
  
“Come along, Pod,” his lady knight says after Lord Jon dismisses them. “Lady Sansa is granting us some free time.”  
  
“Are we going to the yard, ser?"  
  
Ser Brienne chuckles. “No Pod, I assumed that like me, you could do with some more sleep. Lady Sansa promised to send someone to wake us so we don’t miss the feast.”  
  
He gives Ser Brienne as silent nod of thanks before making his way off towards his rooms.  
  
He should be less surprised to find Arya sitting in his room when he opens the door.  
  
“I was there when Sansa told Brienne that you two would get the chance to rest,” she says by way of explanation as he shuts the door behind him.  
  
“You can’t. You can’t just. Arya,” he starts as he turns around to face her, feels his face reddening. “You can’t be here.”

She raises a single eyebrow at him. “You’ve never complained before when I’ve shown up in your room.”

“That was before.”

She steps closer, just a little bit. “What does that mean?”  
  
“Just… um… before. It’s uh, it’s not proper. For you to… um… be here,” he stammers out, because she still makes him nervous after all this while.  
  
Arya gives him a once over, as if she’s deciding something, before she steps back. “Is this about Gendry?”  
  
Podrick sighs, rubs a hand down his face before he goes and sits on his bed with his face in his hands.  
  
“Podrick,” she urges, voice almost a plea but not quite.  
  
He looks up at that, stares deeply into her Stark gray eyes and thinks if he was a lesser man that he’d tell her the truth. But what Gendry said replays in his head, and he knows the other man is right. When it came down to it, Arya chose him.  
  
“No, it’s not,” he lies easily, not that he thinks she’ll believe him. “The Queen is here now. So is Lord Jon. This uh… this could look. Bad. For um… both of us.”  
  
Arya narrows her eyes at him for a moment, her face nearly unreadable – except he knows her now, knows that she doesn’t believe a word he’s said but that she wont press him about it.  
  
“Get some rest. There’s going to be a feast tonight,” she replies stoically before hastily exiting his room.   
  


* * *

  
If he’d held on to any hope that Arya wouldn’t marry Gendry, it’s dashed the moment Queen Daenerys proclaims Gendry a true born son of Robert Baratheon and Lord of Storms End. He must react in some way, at least in his expression, because when he looks up from the table Lord Tyrion is giving him a questioning look before filling his goblet up again with more wine.  
  
He hasn’t seen Arya since he came to the feast, despite the fact that they loudly and expressively toasted her as the savior of Winterfell. He supposes it should have been the savior of the world really, since Bran did say the Night King wanted to wipe out their whole existence. He imagines Arya wouldn’t care either way, even if she was here.  
  
“What’s with the long face?” his former lord asks him as the tuck into their meals.  
  
Podrick shakes his head. “Nothing my lord.”  
  
The younger Lannister brother gives him a piercing look. “Now, now Podrick. It’s been many years since you’ve been in my service, but I’d like to think I still know you pretty well. What’s wrong?”

“He’s _mooning_ . Over a girl,” The Hound interjects as he slides into a bench next to them.  
  
Tyrion chuckles. “Well. That can’t be too much of a problem for you, what with your magic cock.”

The Queen’s Hand drinks deeply from his goblet as his brother looks quizzically at them. His lady knight practically chokes on her meal. The Hound barks a deep laugh, catching the eye of the Lady of Winterfell herself, who trains her eye on their table instead of the blonde women who sits at the head table with her

“I beg your pardon?” Ser Brienne finally manages to ask after downing half her goblet.

“You’ve never heard the story?” Lord Tyrion asks before turning towards him and directing his next question at him. “You’ve never told Ser Brienne about your gift for saving me at the Blackwater?”

“It’s… it’s hardly proper,” he manages to stammer out as Ser Brienne turns to stare him down.

“I imagine I’ll regret this, but I believe I need to know now,” his lady knight says as she continues to regard him.

“Oh, do let me tell the tale. Our young Pod over there might die of proper embarrassment if he has to relay the whole thing himself.”

The squire can feel the heat rise in his cheeks, and it’s probably the warmest he’s been outside of the forge the entire time he’s been in the North. He would like more than anything to escape to the privacy of his room instead of sitting here while his lady knight is regaled with the tale of the first time he was intimate with a woman, let alone it being three women, but it’s too late to leave as Lord Tyrion launches animatedly into the story.

“I’m sure you’re all aware that our squire friend here was given to me as a bit of a jape by my lord father when he made me the Hand of the King for Joffrey while he was busy fighting off Robb Stark’s men. Father thought the boy of little use to the Lannister army, but his surname saved him from a worser fate than being stuck with me. Podrick stood nobly by my side as I prepared Kings Landing for the invasion of Stannis Baratheon’s men, doing what he was bid with no complaints while I tried to temper the worse actions of both Joffrey and my sister. The night of the Blackwater, I set the bay aflame with wildfire in order to wipe out Stannis’ fleet.”   
  
Lord Tyrion pauses to take a drink of his wine before turning to look at the Hound with a wry grin. “You recall that night Hound, I’m sure of it. I do believe you said something along the lines of fuck the city? Fuck the Kingsguard?”

The Hound knocks back the rest of his wine before pouring himself another glass. “Aye, and fuck the King.”

“Yes, well it was quite memorable. Joffrey bitched and moaned about his dog for months after, it was truly delightful, Clegane.”

Ser Brienne clears her throat and the men turn towards her collectively.

“Yes, I’ve been privy to this story before. Podrick saved your life by killing Ser Mandon Moore, who Cersei had bribed to murder you. What does any of this have to do with his… magic…” she trails off there at the end, clearly as embarrassed by this situation as he is.

“I was _getting_ to that bit. Now, where did I leave off?” the little lord ponders for a moment before sitting up a little straighter and commanding the attention of their little group once again. “Young Pod saved my life, for which I was very grateful. Bronn, a sellsword in my employ, and I decided that the young lad deserved a reward for a job well done, and the most sincere way to give my endless thanks was to treat him to a night with three of the most sought after girls at an establishment owned by Lord Petyr Baelish at the time.”

Ser Brienne goes about thirty different shades of red while Lord Tyrion just grins in delight. Podrick has possibly never been more embarrassed, not over the fact that this has happened – he quite enjoyed his evening that night – but more over the fact that Ser Brienne was being made aware of it. He dared to peak up from where he had been staring a whole into the table and Ser Jaime was appraising him with a look of pride while the Hound was snickering into his wine.

“I left the boy with plenty of gold to pay the beauties well after having a night of enjoyment, so you would imagine my surprise when he brought me back the bag of gold the following day. Told us that the ladies wouldn’t accept the gold and had sent him back to the Red Keep to return it to his lord. Bronn and I never quite got a straight answer as to why the girls wouldn’t take his money, though after the other night I’m starting to suspect that he sang to them instead of fucking them.”

Sandor Clegane gives him a quick once over before barking a laugh. “Oh, he fucked them all right. Look at the lad, embarrassed to all seven hells like he is, he definitely fucked them.”

Podrick gives a shrug before turning his eyes up to his old lord. “It was a wonderful night my lord. We all enjoyed ourselves,” he replies quietly as the men at the table laugh loud enough to have many of the eyes in the feast turn towards them. He’s rather grateful Arya has yet to show up.

“Well then, who has you all hung up over them?” Lord Tyrion asks.

“It’s really nothing my lord.”

Sandor snorts. “It’s the Stark bitch.”

Ser Brienne looks like she’s ready to lunge across the table to kick the Hounds arse again. “I beg your pardon Hound. That’s the Lady of Winterfell you’re speaking about.”

The Hound gives the newly anointed knight a snarl. “Not that one, you daft woman. The boy isn’t making moon eyes over the little bird, it’s the younger one he finds himself swooning over.”

Ser Brienne turns to him, regards him carefully. Podrick ignores his lady’s look with stead fast determination, picking at the food that is still on the plate in front of him.

“Is that right Podrick?” Ser Brienne asks quietly, just loud enough that he can hear her over the crowd.

Finally, with great determination, he looks up from his plate. The lie is on the tip of his tongue, ready to slip out so he can be over this conversation already, but the look Ser Brienne is giving him is almost motherly – filled with concern and affection for him and his wellbeing. Instead, he finds himself giving her a miniscule nod.

“It won’t be a problem any longer Ser. Things have… changed,” he tells her privately as she gives him a sympathetic nod.

The table is quiet for a handful of moments before Lord Tyrion suggests they play a drinking game, which Podrick readily agrees too. All he really desires is to be drunk enough to forget that entire conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting well and truly into canon divergence territory! Hurrah! I do not know when I'll be posting the next update, but it won't take as long as it did this past time!


	7. if honesty means telling you the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Podrick lays his head down on the warm stone floor and closes his eyes. He’s too drunk to deal with whatever this is, and maybe if he lays there long enough Arya will leave him alone.
> 
> She kicks her toe into the heel of his boot instead.
> 
> “Get up,” she commands. Her voice is somewhere between bored and annoyed, and when he peaks one eye open, she’s scowling over top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this for months because I lost all motivation to write the last several months. My mental health has been a wreck, I'd like to thank covid and also American election anxiety followed closely by post election anxiety and a fucking insurrection at our Capitol where we almost watched our democracy get destroyed. SORRY TO GO OFF LIKE THAT ITS BEEN A LOT. (also if you supported any of that "election fraud" bullshit, see yourself out because my work isn't for you! thanks!)
> 
> But I've been struck with the urge to work on this again, so here's chapter 7!

Some hours later and many glasses of wine between him and the most uncomfortable conversation he’s ever been a part of, a serving girl has found her way at his table, and is asking him more questions than he really has answers for. A Northern girl who isn’t from a family of great importance, doesn’t mention anything about any of men in her life, and between the amount he’s had to drink and his imagination, she looks enough like Arya that he could definitely pretend for the night that it was.  
  


“I’ve never been to the family quarters,” the girl says, leaning into him in a way that’s flirty and casual enough that he could ignore it if he so chose.  
  


He choses not to.  
  


“Oh aye? Don’t you… you  _ work _ here? In t’castle?”  
  


The girl smiles. “Ever since Lady Sansa and King- er, Lord Jon that is, took the castle back from the Boltons. The Starks are particular about who serves them directly though, I suppose I would be too after all they have been through.”  
  


“Whass your name?” is he slurring? Seven hells -  
  


He leans in closer, rests his hand on her thigh. He hasn’t been with a woman in gods knows how long, and he’s in no position to turn this down.  
  


“Beth,” the brunette says as she places her hand over his and slides it further up her thigh, gives him a wink when he grins at her.  
  


“How’s ‘bout  _ I _ show you the fam’ly quarters?” he leans in to whisper in her ear. The serving maid giggles.  
  


“Only if my friend Ellyn can join us,” Beth replies as she looks over her shoulder to one of the other serving maids with dark blonde hair and blue eyes.  
  


Podrick laughs. “Th’ more th’ merrier.”

* * *

He has one arm each over the shoulders of the serving maids as he drunkenly leads them off towards his room. The girls chatter excitedly about finally being allowed to be in the family wing of the ancient castle enough that Podrick decides to point out that he’s not family and stays there.  
  


The girls look at each other over his chest and burst into giggles.  
  


“You might as well be, ser,” the blonde one, Ellyn, states like it’s a matter of fact.  
  


He doesn’t bother to correct the ser.  
  


“We’ve seen you training in the yard with Lady Arya. And you’re a sworn shield to Lady Stark,” Beth points out.  
  


“You’ve been sent on diplomatic missions for Lady Stark, and she hardly trusts anyone. You and Ser Brienne could stay in Winterfell for the rest of your lives and the Starks would welcome it,” Ellyn finishes as they reach the hall that connects the private family wing to the rest of the keep.  
  


As soon as they turn the corner, they collide directly into someone. Pod’s had enough to drink that his balance is questionable already, and the two girls under his arms do nothing to help that. They fall into a giggling heap onto the stone floor as whoever they ran into manages to keep upright.  
  


“Podrick?” he hears from afar. When he hears it again he realizes it’s from above him, and when he opens his eyes his giggles die in his throat.  
  


“Arya?”  
  


The diminutive brunette is staring down at him and the girls he’s with, with no little amount of annoyance. The maids quickly realize who it is that they knocked into and are scrambling up to their feet to apologize. Podrick leans back on his elbows but keeps his place on the floor as Arya glares at him one last time before turning to the girls.  
  


“Don’t you have a feast you need to be serving at?” she dons the icy cold tone of voice he’s familiar with when she’s in public. It used to strike fear into his own heart, so he can’t imagine the two girls aren’t already in a mild panic.  
  


“Yes, Lady Arya. We’re uh… we’re going to go. Back there. Now,” Beth says with a quick curtsey before grabbing Ellyn’s hand and taking off back towards the great hall.  
  


Podrick lays his head down on the warm stone floor and closes his eyes. He’s too drunk to deal with whatever this is, and maybe if he lays there long enough Arya will leave him alone.  
  


She kicks her toe into the heel of his boot instead.  
  


“Get up,” she commands. Her voice is somewhere between bored and annoyed, and when he peaks one eye open, she’s scowling over top of him.  
  


He takes his time peeling himself off the floor, dusting his jerkin off as he gets to his feet and looks over to where she’s still standing, arms folded across her chest and frown firmly in place.  
  


“Two women?  _ Really _ ?” she states, and oh yes she is  _ clearly _ annoyed with him.  
  


“I’mma free man,” he replies, words slurring ever so slightly.  
  


Arya rolls her eyes at him.  
  


“I know. I just,” she gives a dry laugh before continuing. “I just didn’t expect that. From you.”  
  


It’s Podrick’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’ve been with women  _ before _ Arya. I’m a man grown.”  
  


He goes to walk past her, the idea of his bed and a long night's sleep even more appealing than spending the night with those two maids had been. Arya steps into his space before he has the chance to walk past her and puts a hand on his chest to get him to stop. He’s still on the drunken side and he nearly lands on his arse again before he rights himself and looks down at Arya.  
  


Her eyes are searching his in a way that makes him equal parts uncomfortable and turned on.  
  


“Could you just, not do that here?” she very nearly pleads in a quiet voice that is meant just for him. His heart just about bursts, but his traitor brain flashes him an image of her walking into the forge mere hours before they fought the army of the dead.  
  


He pulls away from her like she’s burned him.  
  


“Like you’ve t’right to ask  _ that _ of me Arya. I saw you goin’to the forge b’fore the battle, remember? Don’t pretend that we don’t both know what happened.”  
  


For a second she looks almost hurt before her brows furrow together. “That’s different.”  
  


It’s most definitely the alcohol coursing through his system that is making him this bold, but he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and out of his mouth.  
  


“Howzat different? Because it was your first time?” he demands, ignoring the barely there flinch she gives before hurtling onwards. “I could've done for you whatever  _ Gendry _ did. We both know that.”  
  


“What if I wanted it to be him? I made a choice that most noble girls don’t get to make. You don’t get to be all high and mighty with me about it when you lost your virginity in a brothel owned by Littlefinger,” she nearly spits out, huffing a hot breath of air out of her nose in the space between them.  
  


“Were you over listening to our conversation in the great hall jus’ now?”  
  


Arya laughs, something dark and cruel. “It’s not like Tyrion was keeping it too quiet. I was in the hall for all of five minutes and heard more than enough.”  
  


Podrick looks at her dumbfounded, because she wasn’t in the hall at all during the meal, she was the one person he was keeping his eyes out for. He tells her near as much.  
  


“I was in there briefly telling my siblings that I wouldn’t be joining the festivities.”  
  


That’s when he remembers why he was drinking so heavily that night. Not in celebration of their defeating the Night King and his army, but in his mourning of losing his chance with the woman standing mere inches in front of him. Momentarily he wonders where Gendry is, why he is leaving his intended alone on the night of their engagement. Maybe he’s down in the Great Hall announcing it in front of the remaining forces that haven’t wandered off to fuck someone of their choice.  
  


He takes a solid step back from her and does his best to give her a genuine smile. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”  
  


Arya quirks an eyebrow up at him, confused.  
  


“The Lady of Storm's End is a fitting title for you, even if you’ll always be more wolf than stag.”  
  


“I’m not marrying Gendry just because I fucked him,” she states defensively, making the distance up between them once again.  
  


“I nev’r said that,” he replies just as defensively, because you have to be that way with Arya. At all times.  
  


She scoffs. “You just  _ implied _ that though. I thought you knew me better than that.”  
  


“I did too, but you’re the one’s brought it up. I was just trying to congratulate you on your engagement. Gendry told me earlier today that he was going’t propose.”  
  


Arya looks shocked and angry and finally confused in a rapid fire rotation of emotions.  
  


“When exactly did he tell you this?”  
  


Podrick sighs, because it’s not worth lying about. Her future lord husband will likely tell her eventually anyway, someday after they are married and laughing about the squire from the Westerlands that fancied himself in love with her in their youth.  
  


“After you left the forge with Ser Brienne.”  
  


It takes her a moment, but he sees it in her eyes the moment it all clicks.  
  


“That fucking  _ arsehole _ . He said something, to  _ you _ , about asking to marry me?”  
  


“All he did was make it clear what we  _ all already knew  _ Arya, and it’s  _ fine _ . I understand and I’m happy for you. Truly.”  
  


“What exactly did he make clear?”  
  


Podrick was hoping he would never have to actually admit any of this to her, even in his fantasies of the two of them in the future, it was always something that would happen naturally. They would just progress from what they were to something different, without words being exchanged, because she would just  _ know _ \- like he just knows. Yet he finds himself within a hairsbreadth of her in the hall outside the family wing of Winterfell castle, still drunk from a celebration feast, and loose tongued because of it.  
  


“That you chose him. And he asked me t’ step aside. So tha’s what I’m doing.”  
  


Arya steps a fraction closer, as if there’s even room to do so. She looks up at him beneath sooty black lashes with those Stark grey eyes, and if he wasn’t a complete goner before now, he would be with the look she’s giving him. But she’s engaged and it would be wrong, so he uses whatever strength is left in his to look away from her piercing stare.  
  


“I’m  _ not _ marrying Gendry. You misunderstood me earlier,” Arya tells him in a practical whisper.  
  


His eyebrows shoot up his forehead so quickly that it causes his eyes to hurt. Or maybe it’s just all the wine that causes his eyes to hurt. It could be either really.  
  


“You’re  _ not _ marrying him?”  
  


“No.”  
  


He wants to cheer, punch drunk with a delirious sense of joy. He wants to hoot and holler, to pick her up and spin her around in his joy at the sudden change of events, but he’s still drunk and he would topple them both over.  
  


“I retract my congratulations then.”  
  


He hears her laugh somewhere below him, because he’s closed his eyes to soak this moment all in.  
  


“Thank you,” she says quietly as she steps a full body length away from him. He already misses her warmth.  
  


“So, you won’t be bringing any more girls to your rooms?” she asks a beat later.  
  


Podrick opens his eyes to soak her all in. He gives her a smile that he hopes she’ll return, but she has that mask of hers on once again and he is at a loss as to why.  
  


“Depends. Is there a reason for me to not do so?” he asks slowly as he steps closer to her.  
  


“Podrick,” she says in that way of hers. The way that he knows something bad is coming.  
  


“You can’t just ask that of me, Arya and then get cold on me again. S’not fair.”  
  


“I’m leaving Winterfell. I’ll be following Jon’s army as they march down the Kings Road. I’m going to kill Queen Cersei.”  
  


“Then I’ll come with you,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
  


She places a soft hand on his shoulder. “You can’t. You need to stay here and keep my sister safe until I can come back and do it myself.”  
  


He knows she’s saying it in her own sweet way, but it just makes him angry instead. Because she doesn’t  _ have _ to go kill Queen Cersei, Queen Daenerys or Lord Jon are plenty capable of doing it themselves. Once again he pulls away from her, and he hates that he’s causing that look of pain on her face, but he can’t let her do this.  
  


“No Arya, you stay here and do it yourself. We need you here. Let someone else worry about Queen Cersei.”  
  


Her brows furrow deeply, a perfect V forming on her forehead in reaction. “I’ve been waiting years to get my vengeance on Cersei Lannister. The god of death took Joffrey before I had my chance. I swore to myself that I was going to murder every single person who had a hand in the death of my father, and I mean to keep my word.”  
  


It strikes him suddenly, why exactly she was so concerned by his surname all those moons ago when she returned to Winterfell.  
  


“Did ya wanna kill me too? Back when you returned and you found out who I was?”  
  


She doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say.  
  


“I can’t believe it. I mean. I  _ can _ believe it. I’ve always been aware of how capable you were of murder. I jus, never thought why you wanted t’ know how well I knew Illyn.”  
  


“I don’t feel that way anymore, you know that.”  
  


Podrick laughs a little agitatedly. “Do I really? You train with me in the yard for months, become my friend but keep secrets  _ about me _ from me anyway. You tell me of your adventures after fleeing Kings Landing, but forget t’ mention the man you’ve been in love with for years until he shows up at  _ your _ castle. You ask me not t’ bring girls to my room but tell me you can’t give me a reason as t’ why because you’re off to kill the queen. I don’t rightly  _ know _ what exactly I know these days.”  
  


“Does any of that matter right now?” she asks, voice angry, hurt.  
  


“I’m in love with you!” he shouts in the empty hallway, “Of  _ course _ it matters, Arya!”  
  


She blinks at him. Once, then twice. His chest is heaving, and his head is pounding, and he’s not sure what he was expecting when he admitted that. Hells, he’s not even sure when he decided to admit it. Arya’s eyes brim with tears but she’s off down the hallway before he even has a chance to reach for her.

  
“ _ Fuck _ ,” he mumbles to himself as he slides down the wall, head in his hands.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> I scream into the void in both these places [twitter](https://twitter.com/_starlux/) and [tumblr](https://starlux-s.tumblr.com/) about a variety of things. If you wanna scream with me, that's where to find me. 
> 
> I think my regular update days will be Wednesdays, late evening PST. At least that's my ideal time right now!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
